


Iron Bars

by Wayfarers



Category: The Last Unicorn - Peter S. Beagle
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-08 21:15:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5513570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wayfarers/pseuds/Wayfarers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To the harpy Celaeno, every day behind those bars felt like an eternity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Iron Bars

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Fells](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fells/gifts).



Celaeno did not know time. She was immortal: every moment was now and now stretched out into eternity. Daylight loomed hot and bright, the sun reflecting from her bronze feathers. Night lingered on and on and on, each crowd of visitors passing her by with blank stares and mouths agape, eager to feel the safe sort of terror the Midnight Carnival had to offer.

 

She never wondered how many crowds she had seen. Each one looked the same to her. Humans that were somewhat frightened of the false exhibits before her, and somewhat more frightened of her. They passed by again and again and again, night after night. Every night since her capture may as well have been the one before it, and this prison may as well have been where she hatched. The very old but not immortal – like the old witch – had a strange perception of time. To them, each day grew shorter in comparison to the ones before it. They thought immortals must be similar; that to a harpy as old as Celaeno, a few years of imprisonment would pass like seconds.

 

It wasn’t so. To Celaeno, there were no seconds. Immortal beings had no need for time, sure as there was no need for clocks in Hell. Instead of passing by quick as nothing, to the harpy her imprisonment instead soured the forever that stretched behind her and the forever that stretched out in front. Torment beyond torment. Even those who hated her and wanted her dead would think it perverse to keep her caged, but not Mommy Fortuna, who barely seemed to care at all.

 

And yet, speaking to the old witch was her only reprieve from the monotony. She knew the crowd of faceless humans. She knew Rukh, who was capable of throwing a man ten feet in the air but not of much else. She knew Schmendrick, the magician that was more than what he seemed but utterly useless as long as he insisted on playing the part of a fool. And she knew Mommy Fortuna.

 

Mommy Fortuna didn’t speak to her at all until a week after her capture. They spent that week staring each other down, seeing who would crack and speak first. Finally, deciding to let the harpy have one small victory in a sea of defeat, the wold witch approached.

 

“I’ve heard of you, Dark One,” she said, voice like a knotted old tree.

 

“That is no bragging right!” Celaeno said, “Children have heard stories of me.”

 

“Children in my time long, long ago,” Mommy Fortuna said, “But not in this one. Children don’t fear you anymore, nor your sisters, wherever they are.”

 

“If you knew me, you would not have captured me,” the harpy said, “Free me now, and I’ll eat all your fingers and toes, but I’ll let you live.”

 

“No, I think not,” Mommy Fortuna said, “When I was a young girl – hard to believe, I know, but there _was_ such a time – my grandfather told me a story about you. Do you know which story it was?”

 

“Of course I don’t! I am a great and terrible thing, but I am no mind reader,” Celaeno bellowed, “Free me now, and I’ll eat your hands and your feet, but I will not kill you.”

 

“No, I think not,” Mommy Fortuna said again, “As I was saying, my grandfather used to tell me tales of the Dark One. Perhaps you can tell me if this story is true. He said that a long, long time ago there was an old woman who lived in a cottage in the mountains all alone. Every morning she’d bake a pie and set it on her windowsill to cool for her to eat later. And yet, if she so much as blinked, the pie would be snatched up by a harpy.”

 

“Ah, that old woman,” Celaeno said, “I remember her well. Your story is true so far, but it does not end well. Free me now, and I will eat your arms up to your elbows, and your legs up to your knees, but I will not kill you.”

 

“Do you intend to threaten me every time you speak?” she said, “No matter. One day, the old woman stopped putting out pies. If they were just going to be taken, why work for nothing? But the harpy was not happy to pass over the cottage on the way to her nest and take nothing. So, the next day the woman found that one of her apple trees had been picked clean.”

 

“I can still taste the apples on my lips,” the harpy said, “Your story is still true. Free me now, and I will eat your arms and your legs entirely, but I will not kill you.”

 

“Realizing what was happening,” Mommy Fortuna said, ignoring the latest threat, “The old woman took her axe and chopped her remaining trees down. Seeing that there were no more apples to take, the harpy was not happy. The next day, she swooped down and stole a single rose from the woman’s garden.”

 

“Your story is still true,” the harpy said, “Free me now, and I shall eat your arms and legs, and I will blind you with my talons, but I will not kill you.”

 

“The woman plucked her precious garden clean and pressed all the flowers within the pages of a book,” Mommy Fortuna continued, “Seeing that there were no more flowers to steal, the harpy was not happy. The next day, she swooped down and stole a single log from the roof of the old woman’s cottage.”

 

“Your story is still true,” the harpy said, “Free me now and I shall eat your arms and legs, I shall blind you with my talons, and I shall brush my feathers against your ears so that you never hear again, but I shall not kill you.”

 

“At last, the old woman burned her house down,” Mommy Fortuna continued, “The next day, she was standing alone in a barren field as the harpy flew overhead. ‘There, you great bird, you’ve got nothing left to take!’ she hollered, and the harpy landed in front of her. ‘Ah, but there is one more thing,’ the harpy replied, and the old woman was never seen again.”

 

“It is true, all of it,” the harpy said, “Free me now, and I will kill you.”

 

“Ah-hah! And look, I’ve made you waste all your threats on me in a single conversation,” Mommy Fortuna said, “What do you have to do now, but repeat ‘free me, and I will kill you’ again and again and again? You could have saved your threats, let them simmer, and measured time in your own way with how many of my limbs you were going to eat today. Now you’ve got nothing, and I’ve got no reason to free you.”

 

“And your magic will weaken, and I will kill you,” Celaeno said.

 

“One day, yes. But you won’t pilfer my pies, abscond with my apples, pluck my flowers, or peel the logs from my cottage. I won’t be some passive object of your torment in a fable of your greatness, no, _this_ story shall be about the fearsome Mommy Fortuna, and the Dark One’s shame at being held prisoner by a travelling carnival,” she said.

 

“I do not feel shame,” the harpy replied.

 

“You will,” Mommy Fortuna said, “And I will live on in that shame, and no matter how thoroughly you pick my bones clean, you will not be able to kill _that_.”

 

The harpy and the old witch stared into each other’s eyes for a moment, silent and unblinking, before Mommy Fortuna turned away.

 

“Rukh!” she said, “Put out some food for the harpy. Don’t worry, she’s not a bright creature, just don’t stick your fingers through the bars!”


End file.
